Life Story
Acid of aloneness
is less caustic
than cussedness
of company.
Litterateurs mention
little of lines,
more about lucre.
Czars of currency
pester me for poems.
Moonstruck
(1)
In a song
I heard your name
and I kissed my palm.
(2)
As echo in tunnels
suggest existence of sound,
your name resonates
when chit-chatting with friends.
While I’m tongue-tied,
they use your name with ease
and I begin to envy them.
I should have loved you less.
New Year’s Eve
If velleities have their way I will
conquer a country. Citizenship
only for lovers of liberty.
Prerequisite: be yourself.
You’re beautiful with your ivories.
You’re beautiful without them.
We rubberneck only the rictus.
If dentures matter to you,
you will manage them.
Pablum? Reification?
Let me be.
I am lit up.
Whiff
Whenever you drop by
you leave me
with a lyric.
Is it the smell
of your situation
that stirs my
olfactories
or are you my scent?
Away From The Headlines
It takes twenty to hush a gas vendor’s huff
and hurry. To see a smile and sample patient
service, I tip a tenner to the postman every time
he brings me a book-post and, to lure him not
to leave letters on the latch, to push them into
the letterbox, in case I am not there. I live alone,
chances are I may not be available.
Kaun asli ke ache din la sakta hai humare India mai?
